the way the sunlight hits
the empty space in my bed
warming the sheets
kissing my cheeks
how extremely serene
to have this detachment
without the influence
of a shadow in my bed.

There's no silver linings
No light at the end of the road
And I've been searching
...all on my own

The trees are losing thier leaves
Much like I am losing my hair
And the grass is growing it's weeds
And I'm seeing things that aren't there

Its these chemicals balanaced in my mind
That prompts me to find
Such sad little beings
Who love and live
As thoughts in my mind

I'm seeing faces in the shadows
Love in darkness
And happiness with the smoke in my lungs

And I'm done

So done with this constant ache
This soreness in my head
This brutal awakening
That I am dead

Not physically so because I still breathe
But inside of me, I bleed

I look in the mirror
And hate what I see
"Well change yourself!"
But that isn't me

And now I'm slumped on the couch
Listening to slow songs
Watching the room spin
Out of control

Wishing these thoughts weren't there

Cold linoleum and hushed voices,
**** tests and strip searches.
Accept their help or don't make it.
Recondition to become a sheep.

Control yourself, only you can do it.
But don't find relief unless permitted.
It might be your flesh but don't scar it.
Eat these pills but don't enjoy them.

Purge what they don't preach.
Deny your soul a sense of self.
Rely on acceptance and kneel at their
     feet.
Molded into an institution's dream.

Time blurs until your release.
You don't recognize home or scent.
Remain tamed for years to come,
until their chains gratefully come
     undone.

Creature of habit and comfort
slipping back into an old phase.
Relief swells with an epiphany-
Rehabilitation has always been fiction.

Slow soft melodies
Floating from the sound
Of your lovely voice
Your laughter
Is the sweetest music
That's ever passed my ears.
And I put my brush down
Because I know that
I'll never create anything
Half as wonderful as you.
But I'll try as I paint your eye
And forge this picture in my mind
That someday you'll find
The love you lost for yourself
Long ago
And you'll be at ease, darling.
You'll be the person you
Want to be.
I love you
I love you so
I love you so much
And I'd give the world
To make you smile
So darling please, realize
You're worth more than all of
Hades' wealth and the galaxies
Realize, you're precious to me
please...

you remember me as a girl that I don't recognize
I'm not afraid of the words you might use to describe it
words used to diffuse the feelings of guilt
that I imagine you're feeling
(or the guilt I hope you're feeling)
I look back and I don't know what I'm not seeing
I'm not afraid of you not telling the truth anymore
(I'm not sure you knew how to do it back then)
and it's freeing
(but I remember you as a girl I probably don't recognize now, either)
the early teens of the 2000's ******* burn me
memories of my girls ******* hurt me
I still think my only fault was needing them too much
forgetting their problems, because they were my main crutch
but feeling guilty makes me feel filthy
because I only needed support and healing
not lies and betrayal and scheming
and I still need healing
I wish I could forgive you
and I wish you could forgive me

Small memories that make my chest ache.
I'm still working to identify why some of them do.
Maybe they don't need to be defined or recognized.
That's okay, too.
I imagine them being insignificant from an outside perspective... seen as mere moments passing, sights only slightly seen in between other *******.
Queue flashback.
Burn cruising down residential streets, Lana Del Rey's song "Ride" and everything else on that **** mix cd, late autumn, my "old but new" golden SUV making the first tracks in freshly fallen snow... foggy eyes... ******... alone... but it's okay, I enjoy my company.
Desperate for something bigger than myself... beyond myself.
Queue flashback.
My old bedroom.
My parent's driveway, sneakily smoking a midnight bowl and coming back inside with frosty fingers ready to make more art.
A little buffer, you know?
A lot more simple of a life among all the drama, the past lovers, the drugs, the adventures.
Queue flashback.
The sunlight on my skin on a country road looking for abandoned houses with my friends.
Passing around a joint and screaming along to the same songs over and over again.
Finding magic within decaying walls and gravels roads.
Being set free when I'm creating for me.
I see my art as something beyond a hobby, because it's a deep part of me.
It's nostalgia wrapped up in between the sheets of my empathy, apathy, and curiosity.
Nostalgia is my addiction... it's dancing with some ******* friction.
My partners are the past and my reality in a surreal scene.
I create my lovers and they create me.